


Separation anxiety

by Tangorine



Series: Life in the Shatterdome [2]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Humor, Incest, M/M, Man issues, Mild Angst, Separation Anxiety, Stacker Pentecost is not amused
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-16
Updated: 2013-08-18
Packaged: 2017-12-23 15:17:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/928030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tangorine/pseuds/Tangorine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kink meme prompt - So the canon personnel dossiers include a note in Herc's file that: "The Hansens should be monitored very closely and reassigned if necessary for Jaeger readiness." I'd like to see them <i>try</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Kink meme prompt here: http://pacificrimkink.livejournal.com/350.html?thread=1108574#t1108574 or aka the one where Stacker tried to separate them and the Hansens were like hell no. I plan to do also a Chuck POV chapter sometime later, but enjoy Herc's issues for the meantime.

To be fair, Stacker muses, he hadn’t broken the news to the Hansens gently.

He’d summoned them to his office, notified them that following their most recent psych evals, and subject to the clinical staff’s strong recommendations, they’d be reassigned to different partners and that drift compatibility trials would begin in two weeks. He left the room quickly, not in the mood for arguments, leaving Herc pole-axed and Chuck fuming.

“What the _fuck_?” Chuck had shouted, but the closing doors had cut off the rest of his diatribe. Stacker frowns. It’s not his place to tell someone how to raise their child, but Chuck has serious issues with authority that needed to be sorted out. Herc respects him enough to keep silent, but even Stacker knows when his friend is unhappy, and the expression he’d seen on Herc’s face was decidedly on the stronger side of that.

But in retrospect, if he’d known how childish the two would become over this, he’d have never followed the Dr Weaver’s report on the Hansens. Would have saved a lot of trouble in the long term.  
  


*

Chuck is yelling. He doesn’t even know what he’s saying, but all he knows is that he’s angry, and he’s hurt, because despite their problems, he feels like drifting with his dad is the only thing that lets them understand each other these days. And for that to be taken away, probably on Herc’s request, is like a fucking knife to his back.

“I can’t _believe_ you.” He spits, “If you wanted out so much you should have told me to my fucking face instead of hiding behind Pentecost.”

“Chuck, I had nothing-”

“Save it.” He spits, kicking over the trashcan in a spiteful fit of rage. “I’ve seen it in the drift. You _regret_ bringing me into this. Admit it.”

Herc just shakes his head in denial, not knowing what to say. As usual, Chuck has managed to interpret his thoughts in the drift the worst possible way, and experience has taught him that it’s better to ride it out, to deal with his temper tantrums with silence. Anything he says now will just add fuel to the fire, and he clenches his fists, trying to stop them from trembling. Just what the hell was Stacker _thinking_?

Chuck slams the door behind him, and slowly Herc’s gaze flickers to the the personnel files Stacker keeps in his desk.  
  


*

Dr Weaver hums slightly as she writes up the final set of candidates, pen marking their psychological profiles with a highlighter pen. She’s seen some pretty unconventional Jaeger pairs in her time, but as far as the Hansens go, she’s seen criminals with less issues than those two. Plus, she’s aware of the signs, and from her experience she’s seen the unfortunate side-effects of the drift more times than she can count and the Hansens are well on the way to - well. That’s the reason she suggested them for separation.

Yawning, she pushes her glasses up again and stretches, when all of a sudden she notices a figure standing by the door, leaning against the wall.

“Y-you surprised me, R-ranger Hansen.”

Herc’s arms are crossed, and the look he levels at her is both flat and cold. Despite herself, she shivers, and tries her best to maintain some dignity. She knew the Hansens wouldn’t be happy with her decision, and rumour has it that Chuck is _still_ beating people up in the Kwoon in preparation for Drift trials, but she didn’t think Herc (kind, gentle, understanding Herc) would resort to intimidation tactics.

“D-did you need something?” She ventures finally, and swallows as Herc just cocks his head, eyes narrowing dangerously. He leaves the room, and Dr Weaver flinches as he shuts the door with a soft click.  
  


*

Stacker looks at the complaint #1908458 filed by Dr Weaver against one Hercules Hansen for excessive stalking and ‘threatening behaviour’. Herc was smart, he hasn’t said anything outright so he can deny culpability, but really, Stacker groans, the man should _know_ better.

*

Chuck’s potential candidates are screened first, and the trials take place in the Kwoon at 0900 hours. They’re ordered to report as soon as breakfast is over, and Herc knows there’s a betting pool over the candidates. Chuck’s incompatibility with other pilots had been the stuff of legends in the Jaeger Academy, and that combined Herc’s almost universal compatibility has made the Hansens’ issues into a running joke. Personally, he thinks Stacker’s ordered him to attend just to punish him for his unfortunate decision to intimidate Dr Weaver, but as he eyes the potential candidates lined up, he can’t help but glare at them.

He knows the type of guys that are attracted to the Jaeger programme, and although he knows more good pilots than bad, he still doesn’t trust anyone but himself to get into Chuck’s head and not to use it against his son. Because although he loves his kid, he’s not blind, and he knows what a little shit the boy can really be.

As he walks past, he can hear slight snickering, and a tall blue-eyed American mutters to his friends,

“Just wait, I’ll be in him just as fast as his daddy was.”

It stops him in his tracks and he can feel his rage rising, about to cause a fucking scene because _jesus_ , what the fuck was the PPDC doing to train recruits these days, before Stacker places a hand and grips his shoulder tightly.

“You know Chuck’ll handle that one just fine.” Herc just levels his friend a look, and steps back into line. He knows Chuck will be fine. But that doesn’t make himself feel any better as he sees Chuck in the centre of the sparring mats, in his grey sweats, bouncing on the balls of his feet in anticipation. His grin is almost feral, and Herc relaxes, recognising that expression. It’s the one where he’s about to do something that Herc doesn’t like, he’s seen it countless times, through the trials and not so many tribulations of raising a Hansen.

And it suddenly becomes clear when Chuck raises the bo staff, swinging it like a baseball bat. It swishes through the air, a dull swoosh and Herc almost grins as the American in the line flinches slightly. And surely enough, one by one, Chuck annihilates his potential candidates. The bo staffs are supposed to be used with technique, and Chuck is a master, but Herc _taught_ Chuck that swing and he’s putting it to good use as he pummels each candidate to the ground, unrelenting and violent.

It ends in just under an hour, and with every rejection he shoots Stacker and Herc an insolent look, as if daring them to say something.

 _Atta boy_. Herc thinks.

*

Herc finds his partner relatively quickly. He’s young, and he’s got spunk, and he’s aware at how bad this looks when the kid bows at him, respect and admiration in his eyes. Herc’s never been great at wielding the bo staff, he’s always preferred guns, but he humours Stacker as he goes through the motions. Herc’s always been good at moving in sync with people, and he’s been able to adjust and adapt to other pilots in a way that the psychs have found extraordinary.

As soon as the kid holds up the staff, eyes serious and intent, Herc already knows he’s lost as he mirrors the movement. He’ll never achieve a hundred percent synchronisation with this one, but it’s enough to keep the both of them alive whilst the PPDC get their heads out of their asses and reassign his son back with him.

By the time the score is at 4-3, he sees his Chuck leaving the Kwoon. His expression is angry, sullen, but Herc knows the expression for what it is. His son is hurting. Bad. At 5-5, he stops the fight, only breathing slightly faster.

“He’s my partner.” He says, and cuts off any further line of questioning.

And then he runs after Chuck.

*

Since the trials, Chuck has almost stopped speaking to Herc altogether. He barely comes back to their bunk, he arrives later than Herc, and rises earlier than Herc, and even Max is miserable without his owner, tail drooping sadly underneath the blankets. Herc’s taken to sleeping with the damn dog, scratching his ears in his sleep, and he doesn’t even mind the dog hair when Max is the only thing he has that reminds him of Chuck at the moment.

All he knows is that his son is doing his damn best to alienate the whole Shatterdome, stomping around like he’s itching for a fight, growling every time Herc’s new partner is in sight. Adam is a good kid and he doesn’t deserve this, but Herc can’t spare his feelings when he can’t even give his own son what he needs. The only thing he’s grateful for is that Striker’s crew are still fiercely loyal, and he’s asked them to keep a lookout for his son, as well as playing a part in Striker’s coincidental ‘down time’.

They still haven’t figured out who should retain ownership of Striker, and Herc can feel himself scowling. He doesn’t know what Dr Weaver’s problem is, but the whole thing feels less like a military decision, and more like a psychologist with a fancy degree with something to prove.

He rubs at his temples, and looks at the files he’s been handed. Stacker’s been a good friend, and he’s perhaps given him more clearance than he should to do with Chuck’s reassignment. The latest files show that they’ve finally find someone that is suitable for Chuck. The guy - Michael Ayers - a top graduate, with outstanding sim scores, and just a little younger than Herc. He’s English, and known for his patience and his skill with drifting with people. Herc reads the recruit’s profile and he starts to worry. It’s spotless, a clean record, and Herc’s been in the military long enough to know that there’s no such thing. Hell, even _Pentecost_ has a few infractions for starting a few bar fights in their heydays.

Before he’d left him with his files, Stacker tells him to sign the authorisation forms ready for drift trials and in a fit of pique, Herc dumps them in with the medical files instead.  
  


*

The missing files are relocated embarrassingly quickly. Herc crosses his arms as he watches ‘Mike’ trip up his son on the mat, abandoning the bo staff to lock his arms around Chuck’s torso to pull him back. Chuck grunts, arm straining as he tries to buck out of position, and Mike just adjusts, moves with him, so that he’s pressed flush against his back. Chuck bucks again, and Herc swears he can see Mike glance towards him, mouth smirking slightly as he just rolls Chuck onto his back, pinning him to the mat.

“Gentlemen.” Stacker barks. “This is not a brawl.”

They get up, Chuck cursing, and readjust so they begin sparring again, and this time their movements are calmer, smoother, and Herc has never seen someone adjust to his son this quickly, and he has to give him some credit, even if he’s a bonafide jackass.

They last a few more rounds, each giving as good as they got, and there are a few catcalls and whistles when Chuck manages to land a blow after a complicated series of jabs, parries and kicks. They call it even after that, and after a moment’s hesitation, Chuck sweeps a side glance at Herc before offering Mike a hand, pulling him to his feet.

Herc almost steps forward, and Stacker holds him back. And Herc scowls. It feels like that’s all he’s doing these days.  
  


*

That night, Herc spends the whole evening in Stacker’s office, flashlight gripped in one hand, searching desperately for something, anything that’ll get Ayers out of the programme.  
  


*

Herc arrives at breakfast, tired and cranky and needing coffee when he’s greeted with the sight of Chuck and Mike sat together. Max runs over to Chuck with an excited yip, and Herc has to smile when Chuck bends down to ruffle the bulldog’s ears. He sees him slip him a piece of bacon, and unable to help himself, he approaches them, ignoring the way Chuck’s shoulders tense as he gets closer.

“You’ll make him fat you know.”

“Speak for yourself.” Chuck just mutters sullenly, and Herc has to scoff because seriously. He’s raised a seventeen two year old.

“That the best you can do?” Herc just replies, pulling a chair up to sit next to his son, more interested in Ayers. The guy sits back, smiling, and he extends a hand in greeting.

“Ranger Hansen.” He says, vowels round and fucking British. “Pleasure to meet you sir.”

Herc ignores the hand, choosing instead to do what he’s watched Chuck do all his life. Act like a jackass. Besides, where did people think his son got it from?

“ _Mike_ is it?” Herc leans in, picking a piece of food from the British man’s tray. He does it just to gauge his reaction, and he learns disappointingly little. “Where did you serve?”

“British Army. You?”

And Herc scoffs, because of course. Had to be the brown jobs, and his time in the RAF had taught him as much.

“Royal Australian air force.” Herc offers curtly, and Mike’s mouth opens slightly like he’s going to say something. Different armies, different countries, but old habits die hard and airmen and land grunts have never gotten along.

“How’s the drifting coming along?” Herc asks, not really that interested.

“Got our first session today.” Mike says, looping a casual arm around Chuck’s shoulders. Herc just grits his teeth as Chuck allows the casual gesture, and is that a fucking blush he sees? Marshall or not, he if finds out the guy has even _touched_ his son there’ll be hell to pay.

“How old are you anyway?” He asks, unable to help himself.

“No older than you.” Is the unapologetic reply. “Old man.”

Chuck looks like he’s halfway between amused and joining in, and Herc stands up, slamming his hands on the table.

“Max.” He snaps, and the dog runs to his side as he stalks out of the mess hall. At least the damn dog was still loyal.  
  


*

Herc tries not to go into the laboratories often, because he really doesn’t need to see kaiju body parts, and he doesn’t really enjoy the tension between Hermann and Newt like the rest of the Shatterdome does, but he takes a chance after breakfast, anger palpable as he strides towards Newt’s office with purpose. He manages to catch him whilst he’s dissecting a tentacle of some sort, and Newt pushes up his goggles and puts down his scalpel with a smile.

“Hey! How’re you doing Herc?”

“Not great.” He admits, “You know what happened with Chuck?”

“Yeah, I heard about that.” Newt just tsks disapprovingly, looking at him with sympathy. “Heard his partner was a real dick too.”

“Yeah, about that.” Herc asks, knowing that what he’s about to do is not really above board. “How’s your hacking these days?”

Newt’s eyes widen.

“Those records were sealed!” He wails, and then pauses, looking at him curiously. “But they’re uh pretty good. Not that I’ve been practicing or anything.”

“Good.” Herc smiles, showing teeth. “I have two names for you. A Sergeant Michael Ayers, and a Dr Jenna Weaver.”

And then just because he can, he slides a USB over to the doctor. “I’ve downloaded my half of Stiker’s sensory input from our last tango with Ceramander. I’ll trust you’ll keep it safe.”

A small grin spreads on Newt’s face, and he clutches at the USB stick like it’ll disappear if he doesn’t keep hold of it.

“Gotcha. I’ll have something for you by the end of this week.”

*

It turns out he doesn’t need anything from Newt afterall. Chuck’s first drift with Mike is a fucking disaster, and it turns out Chuck had disconnected first, pulled off his helmet and landed a solid punch on his co pilot, rendering the whole exercise redundant. Herc’s seen the security footage, and he frowns when he hears Chuck scream,

“Don’t you fucking go near me again.”

It ends with a brawl, a _brawl_ in the middle of the Drivesuit room.

Herc’s never seen Stacker that angry before, but he doesn’t really care. Not when this could have been avoided, months ago when he told Stacker to put him back with his son. Instead, he stands by his friend’s side, trying not to seem too smug when Stacker chews them out. Eventually they’re dismissed, and Stacker takes one look at him and Herc knows the Marshall doesn’t believe any of his shit.

But then Newt slides over a file at dinner, grinning impishly. He’s got dark circles under his eyes, but Herc accepts the file, flicking through it. Turns out Ayers is a scumbag rapist plus other many misdemeanors which Herc would be happy about if it weren’t for the fact that Chuck had just drifted with the guy. He’s been in that position with Scott before, and he knows there’s nothing worse than sharing your thoughts, your feelings, living the moment but being unable to do anything about it, until your thoughts become indistinguishable from one another. Herc shakes his head to clear his thoughts, and more importantly, he sees the section on their dear Dr Weaver and suddenly it’s like fucking Christmas.

“I can’t believe she faked her Doctorate.” Newt sniffs. “And it’s not like psychology is even _hard_.”

“I owe you one.” Herc slaps him on the back, already out of his seat. He’s got some payback to give.

*

And when Spinejackal hits Melbourne, Stacker has no choice but to send Herc and Chuck out together. Sergeant Ayers is nowhere near ready to start piloting with Chuck, and Adams is on leave, citing a nervous breakdown from stress. Dr Weaver is curiously absent, and he has to be suspicious, because it seems like everything has fallen back into place again. Even the Striker is curiously working again, and he shakes his head, knowing that somehow Herc is behind this.

The Drivesuit room is awkward, and Chuck doesn’t look at Herc once, instead choosing to stare pointedly in front of him. But then they hit the drift, and Chuck’s memories and his thoughts flow into his consciousness, his anger, betrayal, hurt and gut wrenching loneliness, and brief flashes of Ayers, goddamn fucking Ayers which begin to make the reason for Chuck’s altercation with him startlingly clear.

Herc knows Chuck is experiencing his own thoughts too; he’s seeing the way Herc reacted to seeing him and Ayers together, the way he blackmailed Dr Weaver, the reason for the Striker’s downtime, and he has to snort when he realises they’ve managed to communicate more in the drift in a few minutes than they ever would in years in real life. Chuck hears him in the drift, and slowly, for the first time in months, he turns to look at him properly, a small quirk to his lips.

“Ready to go kick some kaiju ass, dad?”

It’s about as much as an apology he’ll ever hear, and he nods.

“Let’s go son.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've updated the tags to include a very brief mention of rape by an original character to another original character. Please, please don't read this if the subject is a trigger for you. Chuck's POV is below, and is much more shippy than chapter one, because I just couldn't leave it alone.

Chuck spends the first night after their reassignment in the Kwoon, hitting the hell out of one of the punching bags. The leather is soft and spotted with sweat, and he spins on one foot, landing a textbook butterfly kick to the upper quadrant. The following jabs are fucking perfect too, and he knows they are because he’s drilled them to death, back when he was fifteen, back when he needed to prove to everyone he deserved the position next to his father’s side.

But now, he doesn’t even know what it was for. He hates himself, a little, for needing Herc’s approval, _craving_ it like some needy bitch with no one else to rely on. But he has to face it, that’s what he is, and apart from his dad and Striker’s techies, he has no one.

He doesn’t even care if Stacker hates him - he’s spent more than a few years trying to prove his worth to the Marshall, and he’s done with trying. The real punch in the gut is the fact that Herc requested his transfer, effectively calling an end to their relationship right there and then. He’s seen the way his father regrets bringing him into the military, but as long as they had Striker, and as long as they kept killing kaiju, he thought he’d be able to cling on, just a little further.

He shakes his head to clear vision away from the sweat, and blinks rapidly, trying to quell the sob that almost rises in his chest. But he’s had practice, so it’s easy to force it down, and to take a punch again.

*

He spends the next few days sleeping in Striker’s conn pod, slipping into the side hatch when Maria’s not paying attention. He’s spent more time with those machines than he ever has with his dad, and it’s comforting hearing the hum of Striker’s reactors and the soft beep of Striker’s sensory inlays. He hides in Striker’s machinery, trying not to think too hard about how he’ll never pilot Striker again, when he hears Maria muttering through a phone one day.

“Look Herc, you gotta come down here. The kid’s hiding in Striker just like the old days, and it’d be cute if it weren’t so tragic but-”

Something cuts her off, and a slow smile spreads across her face.

“Yeah, we can do that for you, but what about Chuck?”

He doesn’t hear the rest of the conversation when he decides to get out whilst he still can. If Herc doesn’t want him in his machine then he’ll do just that. On his way out, Maria just taps him on the shoulder, making him pause.

“Your daddy didn’t ask for you to be transferred.” She says, southern drawl prominent. “He says a Dr Weaver did.”

He doesn’t believe it for a second, and he shrugs off her hand on her shoulder.

“That’s cold kid.” She calls after him, voice amused.

He just flips her off, but despite himself, he feels slightly better.

*

It takes Chuck a while to hack into the mainframe, but he’s been out of practice. Last time he did this was to fake his age on his applications to the Jaeger Academy, but this time he’s after something specific. He picks up things quickly, and remembers them even clearer, so it’s another minute before Dr Weaver’s files on their reassignment appear. There are file upon files on their family history, their bloodwork, their medical records, but the psych files are the thickest, and they’re the ones that Chuck is interested in.

He reads the whole damn thing. It takes him about half an hour, and by the end, his eyes are burning, face too, and his chest feels tight, too small for his lungs. According to the psychs the _Hansens_ are basically one step from fucking each other, and Chuck’s latent homosexual urges combined with drifting with his dad are screwing with their _family_ dynamic.

Chuck wants to call bullshit, but as the report says, the feelings are mostly one-sided on his part, and he knows that this has been a long time coming. He aware that he’s being masochistic by reading the whole thing, but he physically can’t stop himself, and the report exposes a whole load of truths that Chuck has been avoiding for a long time.

_A deep seated need borne from the kaiju attack on Sydney to prove to his father that he is worth saving, especially at the cost of his mother._

_An almost unhealthy obsession over his father, as noted by drift recording #SEHH0198._

_Unrelated violent impulses and anger management control issues noted from the age of thirteen, notably since Herc’s reassignment._

It exposes a lot, and Chuck has to run to the nearest trash can to throw up, gasping, not knowing what is worse, knowing for sure that Herc will never touch him, they’ll never pilot together again because of Chuck’s sickness, or that everyone, Dr Weaver, Stacker, _Herc_ knows about it.

*

He can’t face his dad, and he can’t go back to the Striker. He spends most of his days in the Kwoon, and then he spends the rest of his nights in the sim pods, brain wired to machines. The other recruits are beginning to laugh at him when he walks through the corridors, and he’s feeling slightly twitchy with the sensory overload. He finds himself jumping at shadows, thumbs twitching for triggers that don’t exist, and he’s starting to realise that maybe, maybe he’s got a problem.

It finally comes to a standstill when Sasha Kaidanovsky drags him out of the simulator conn pods by the scruff of his neck.

“If you were my son I’d beat you.” She grunts, dragging him over to her quarters. “And if I were your father I wouldn’t be treating you like this.” She adds on with a growl. He has no choice to follow, and mutter sullenly.

“What are you even doing here anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be off terrorising Russians somewhere?”

“Please.” She shoots him a look, accent thick and curling. “Alexis and I have been drafted in to cover your asses whilst you get your reassigned partners.”

Then when they get back to her quarters, she pours him a shot, pulling up a chair to sit next to him.

“You can sleep here while you get your daddy issues out of the way.”

Chuck chokes, and she pounds his back, not helping at all as he continues to choke.

“Stop crying about something you can’t control, boy.”

Chuck looks down at his hands, feeling helpless.

“If you can’t get them to agree with you,” Sasha says, lips curling, “Then you just need to force their hand.”

*

Chuck smirks, a shadow of his usual cockiness as he looks at the queue of recruits in the Kwoon. He can see a few faces he recognises, back when they trained together, some faces from around the Shatterdome, and he knows instinctively that none of them are a match for him. He’s always had trouble adjusting to drift partners, and Herc had been the only one that had been able to keep up with him. Distantly, he remembers part of Dr Weaver’s file - _an obsessive need to make his father the only focus of his attention, one could say he rejects other candidates unconsciously in order to ensure his continued assignments_ \- and he bounces on the balls of his feet in anticipation. He’ll show everyone just how serious he is.

The first one falls to the ground when Chuck trips him up, the second goes down unconscious after Chuck swings the bo staff like a bat. Herc looks angry, when he walks into the room, but Chuck avoids looking at him too closely when he smashes the next candidate on his back, bat thwacking dully into flesh. The whole procedure lasts an hour, and he tries not to think too much about how good it feels to be hitting something instead of feeling like he’s being hit all the time.

*

He gets a bit of grief from that particular display in the Kwoon, and several cadets nursing bruises eye him narrowly as he watches Herc get ready. Distantly, he admires the way he ties bandages around his knuckles, muscles straining underneath his grey tank. His dad doesn’t care for bo staffs and fancy martial arts, he enjoys bare knuckle fighting, a test of strength and speed that he doesn’t get to test out too much when he’s in the LOCCENT. The man’s a menace in the boxing ring, and it’s been a long time since Chuck’s seen the guy in a barfight, and even longer since in the Kwoon.

Since Dr Weaver’s report, he’s lost his anger, his direction, not knowing where to focus when he can’t even blame his dad for their reassignment anymore. All he knows is he feels resent, bone deep, and he has no one to blame but himself.

The guys that are in line for his dad range from his age to the ridiculously young, and he has to feel offended. It’s like they decided that to increase the chances of them finding partners they’d find the closest replacement they have for him and Herc, and it hasn’t escaped his notice that all the candidates for him have been older than thirty, if not older. It says a lot about how obvious his issues are, and it fucking grates how stupid he’s been.

“Stop trying to glare them into failing.” A man sidles up to him, accent British. Chuck ignores him, because every inch of him is saying don’t talk to me, and yet, the guys stays, moves even closer to him as he leans against the wall to watch the next guy take on his dad. “We’ve got bets on the next kid - he has a major thing for your daddy.”

Irritated, Chuck glances up, noting the blue eyes and the tousled curls. The guy looks like a dick.

“Go away before I hurt you.” And the guy backs off, expression amused, holding two hands up like he’s trying to placate him.

But as he turns his attention back onto the fight, he knows the man is right as suddenly he sees the shift, the moment when Herc _adjusts_ so that he starts to flow instead of fight. The worst thing is, it’s only the third candidate, and Chuck had gone through all fifteen before Stacker had called it off, shaking his head with irritation. It almost guts him, when he sees the kid respond to a move that Herc has pulled on Chuck many a time, and when he sees him level the score with a headlock, he feels fucking replaced when the kid bows, respect and admiration shining in his eyes. He’ll never give his dad that, he’s physically incapable of doing anything that carefree and open these days. They have too much history, and once they start to drift it’ll be over for him and Herc.

He stalks out of the Kwoon, keeping his expression as blank as he can, fighting the urge to scream. A part of him almost feels betrayed. He’d figured the old man would try harder to fail or something.

*

He hears his dad run after him, and he ducks into a side room, closing his eyes as he hears his dad thunder past.

“Chuck!” He yells, and Chuck flinches as he hears the patter of bare feet slap past the door. The old man hadn’t even put his shoes back on.

*

He spends the rest of the day being mean to ‘Adam’, the new kid that’s been partnered with his dad. He sits next to his dad sometimes in the mess hall, and Chuck watches with growing irritation as Max, the traitor, sidles up to him in an effort to gain treats. Adam’s about as far as Chuck is in temperament; he’s soft and quiet and green around the ears. But his hair is just on the lighter side of strawberry blonde, and his eyes are fucking hazel and his grin when he’s sure no one else is looking is just beginning to turn cock sure with the knowledge that he’ll be piloting Striker. With Herc Hansen.

So it’s with an almost unholy delight that Chuck takes at scaring the kid into submission, glaring at him when he thinks no one is looking, bumping past him on their way to the mess hall. He’s bulkier than Adam, and for the first time, he enjoys using his added height to intimidate him, laughs when he drops his tray in fear at the sight of him. Sasha catches him at it one day, and she just rolls her eyes. Adam almost looks betrayed when she saunters past.

“Sorry kid,” she mutters, vowels clipped and Russian. “I can only deal with one brat at a time.”

It isn’t until Mako spots him bullying the kid that he stops. She touches him softly on the inside of his arm, and her look is disapproving, and a little sad, like she thinks he should know better. And the thing is, he _should_ know better, because he’s been on the other side before, a thirteen year old kid who’s been targeted before because of who his dad is, tripped up in hallways because of his sim scores, and beaten up because he doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut.

So he takes his anger out on the Shatterdome, alienating everyone he can, unable to just let it go.

And then he meets Michael.

*

There’s an unexplained delay to Chuck’s next scheduled drift trials, and he snorts when they cite missing paperwork. The pussies probably just want to wait it out before he sends another batch of recruits to the medic bay, but he notices the guy who’d warned him about Adam in the line of hopefuls, and then he has to reassess the man again. He hadn’t pegged him for a potential pilot, but now, looking at the broad shoulders, the cocky lilt to his head, the dark five o’clock shadow that is beginning to show on his jaw, he kicks himself for not noticing it earlier. The man screams mercenary, probably served in the army for a while, like his dad.

So he shows off a little, mixing in a little of his personal style along with the katas he’s learnt, disposing of his current adversary with one swoop, dancing circles around him.

“5-2.” Mako calls, twitching slightly when his opponent hits the floor. “Next, Michael Ayers.”

Michael steps up to the mat, and bows slightly, barely dipping his head in acknowledgement. They step into the centre of the mat, and by the way they circle each other, staffs raised in greeting, something curls, low in Chuck’s gut. This is going to be good.

The first strike is fast, and Chuck defends with a counter, sweeping it under and out. He wins the first point, but Michael counters with a jab of his own. He’s not as deft as Chuck is, but he’s strong, and the next point is Michael’s, and Chuck grits his teeth. The guy shouldn’t be gaining ground this fast, and then he manages to gain the upper hand and flips the the guy into a headlock.

“Getting tired, old timer?” Chuck hisses into Ayers’ ear, grunting to keep the position, and Ayers just jabs him in his side, getting him to let go momentarily.

“Not in the slightest, _kid_.” He grins back, managing to somehow trip him up, throwing away his bo staff to lock his arms around Chucks torso. Chuck just grunts, trying to buck into position, but he’s thrown off guard momentarily when Ayers just moves with him, pressing firmly behind him and pulling him flush against his body. He can feel his face burning (his _dad_ was watching for chrissakes) and the guy just rolls him onto his back, pinning his arms to the mat. He’s about to throw a punch when Stacker barks,

“Gentlemen. This is not a brawl.”

So they separate again, and somehow he’s feeling calmer, more centred, and he can feel what the guy is doing, counteracting, predicting the way he’ll attack, how he’ll fake the first one, and then move into the next attack seamlessly. But Chuck’s been doing these katas for as long as he remembers, so it’s with one last attempt he puts everything into it, ducking to lower his centre of gravity before kicking twice and then parrying. He manages to disarm Ayers, and then just to be a smartass he raps him smartly in the side, not bothering with the usual courtesies of the trials.

They call it even then, and for some reason he doesn’t care to look too deeply into, Chuck decides to offer the guy a hand. He can’t help but sweep a side glance to check how Herc’s doing, and then is distracted as Ayers clasps his hand, pulling himself up.

“Thanks.” He grunts, looping a thick arm around his shoulders, muscles glistening with sweat. “Catch you later for a drink?”

“You know I’m underage right?” He usually tries to act older, to fit in with peoples’ ideas of what consists of a jaeger pilot. But something makes him ask the question. Michael just smiles, showing teeth, and pulls him closer.

“Yeah kid. I know.”

Yeah, Chuck swallows. Definitely physically compatible.

*

He doesn’t show up to meet Michael that night, but he sits next him the following day at breakfast. ‘Mike’ is funny and has plenty of stories to tell about the world pre kaiju days, but something doesn’t quite sit right with Chuck, and he doesn’t know what it is. But he forgets about it when he sees Herc approaching, and he recognises that expression, the one where his dad seriously wants to fuck shit up.

Instead he holds his arms open to Max, rubbing his ears and smushing his face, smiling genuinely for the first time in a while when the dog just snuffles and headbutts his leg affectionately. He misses the dog so damned much, and slips him a piece of bacon, trying to ignore the shadow that falls over him.

“You’ll make him fat you know.”

“Speak for yourself.” Chuck just mutters sullenly, knowing how childish he sounds, because his dad has absolutely nothing to worry about in that department. Every inch of him is solid muscle, wrapped around a steel frame that’s been honed by years of piloting jaegers. He can tell Herc’s amused by the little scoffing sound he makes, and Chuck grits his teeth.

“That the best you can do?” Herc just replies, and it’s with growing horror that Chuck realises that he intends to stay, pulling a chair up to sit between them. He watches them make their introductions, barely hearing the words, realising that they’ve entered into some kind of pissing contest. He recognises that tone from his dad, the one he saves in particular for journalists, and it isn’t until he sees his dad pick some food off Mike’s tray that he realises this is about _him_. And again, it strikes him how obvious he’s being. Sat next to them like this, he can see Herc and Mike’s similarities as clear as day, their stubble, their ages; even the way they square off at each other, measuring dick sizes over where they’ve served in the army.

“How’s the drifting coming along?” Herc asks, interrupting Chuck’s thoughts.

“Got our first session today.” Mike says, looping a casual arm around Chuck’s shoulders. He allows it just cause it seems to be pissing his dad off, but it works against him when Herc just grits his teeth and snaps at Mike,

“How old are you anyway?”

“No older than you.” Is the unapologetic reply. “Old man.”

Herc just slams his hands on the table, and leaves pretty swiftly after that. Chuck feels like he should be pleased, but really, he just feels sick.

*

Turns out Ayers was a dick afterall. A scumbag rapist dick. The drift is supposed to be silence, but Chuck catches a glimpse of the poor boy he sees Ayers intimidate, makes him suck off, and then turns him around, fucking him through his sobs and his cries. For all of his battle experience, it turns out he isn’t good at keeping his memories in check, and Chuck feels his panic as he scrambles to turn that thought off, only to lead Chuck through another thought, this time Ayers’ imagination, of doing the same to him; fucking him until he screams, until he can’t form even words through his pretty swollen lips - and Chuck backtracks immediately from that, trying to run away.

And then he feels Ayers scrambling at him, digging, brushing close to thoughts, _dreams_ even Chuck didn’t know he had, ones where it’s his father pinning him down, whispering _i love you_ through breathless, shuddering gasps, and Chuck rips his helmet off, landing a solid blow to his copilot. He’s shaking, he feels violated, and when Ayers goes for him, Chuck’s mind whitens in a hot burst of rage.

How dare he. How fucking dare he.

He wants to maim, hurt, and as he rips out a chunk of Ayers’ hair, he wonders blankly who the hell had thought this guy was more suitable to pilot with him than with his dad.

“Don’t you fucking go near me again.” Chuck screams, when Stacker and Tendo finally manage to separate them, unaware his eyes are watering.

“You’re fucking crazy.” Michael yells, hands outreached, as if trying to strangle him, and Stacker yells at the both of them, telling them to shut up. He chews them out, and Chuck has to brace a hand against the wall to stop himself from falling, still shaking with the memories of that poor boy, feeling the delight and cruel viciousness of Ayers’ thoughts, circling him still.

*

Mako finds him curled up in one of the simulators, and he’s not quite crying, but he’s shaking slightly, eyes blank. She looks at him, and her eyes soften, placing a gentle hand on his arm.

“Tell me what happened.”

And Chuck tells her, feeling weak and nauseous and hating every minute of it. He’s a fucking jaeger pilot for chrissakes, he’s killed kaiju the size of skyscrapers before and he can’t deal with one scumbag? He’s glad though when Mako’s expression hardens, and has to smile slightly when he sees her mouth flatten, in a gesture that she’s clearly learnt from copying the Marshall.

“You’ll be okay.” She says eyes serious. “...I’ll talk to sensei. He’ll understand.”

*

And when Spinejackal hits Melbourne, Chuck doesn’t even have time to readjust when Stacker reassigns him back to Striker Eureka. The Drivesuit room is awkward, and Chuck doesn’t look at Herc once, instead choosing to stare pointedly in front of him. But then they hit the drift, and Herc’s memories and his thoughts flow into his consciousness, Chuck already feels comforted by the familiar presence of his dad’s mind. The silence is a soothing balm across his hurts, erasing the cuts like smooth plaster filling the gaps.

He knows Herc can see everything, and he lets him in, and in return he can see how Herc fought for them, begging Pentecost to change his mind, telling Maria to put the Striker out of commission. He feels his dad’s loneliness, his jealousy, and Chuck has to laugh when a glimpse of Dr Weaver’s terrifies expression springs to mind.

When his dad comes across the memories of Chuck reading her report, he flinches - _unnatural obsession with proving himself to figures of authority, perhaps an early symptom of his unnatural feelings for his father_ \- and Herc sends wave of reassurance down their bond. There’s a promise within that, an agreement for later. Slowly, for the first time in months, Chuck turns to look at Herc properly, a small quirk to his lips.

“Ready to go kick to kaiju ass, dad?”

And Herc nods, smiling slightly.

“Let’s go son.”

end


End file.
